


like a magnet and a metal pull

by cherryvanilla



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Smut, Kid Fic, M/M, Meet-Cute, One Night Stands, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 03:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5075623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their seats are amazing, right on the field basically. He can see all the media people milling about, the photographers, reporters, and a few people with headsets. One of them looks familiar, but Brent can only see his profile. </p>
<p>Until the second quarter ends and he’s face to face with the person he assumes is Jonathan the PR Guy. </p>
<p>He just also happens to be Jonathan the Dude Brent Hooked Up With and Never Got His Name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a magnet and a metal pull

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alotofthingsdifferent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/gifts).



> HAPPY (early) BIRTHDAY Amanda <333 I really hope you enjoy this <333 Love you, babe! 
> 
> Thanks to Ashley for looking this over <3 
> 
> Completely inspired by those amazing photos of Tazer, Seabs and Carter at the Bears game.

The guy is tugging at the waistband of Brent’s jeans and shoving his hand down the front of his pants, his knuckles scraping along the hair on Brent’s torso as they kiss frantically. Brent’s head bangs back against the bathroom stall, and he moans gratefully into the guy’s mouth when he palms along the front of Brent’s boxers. 

His breathing stutters when the guy uses his other hand to pop the button of Brent’s jeans before sliding down the zipper, giving himself more room to work. He can barely keep up with the kissing, his mouth going still under -- god, he doesn’t even know this dude’s name -- full, hot lips as he finally gets his hand on Brent’s bare cock. 

The guy makes an impatient noise against Brent’s mouth, kissing him harder, before nipping at his bottom lip playfully. It brings Brent back to the here and now, makes him reach behind and pull the guy in closer with a hand to the small of his back, makes him open his mouth wider until he’s fucking the guy’s mouth with his tongue and listening to choked-off broken moans as he’s given the best handie he’s possibly ever had. 

His hands are soft, fingers smooth, as they work up and down Brent’s shaft. Brent slips his own hand under the guy’s t-shirt, fingertips finding the sweat-slickened skin of his back. Brent drags his hand up the overheated skin of spine, then back down again, tucking beneath his jeans and teasing along his crack. 

The guy’s hand stutters on Brent’s dick then, an uneven puff of air against Brent’s lips and, oh, that’s nice. 

Brent bites back a groan when the guy breaks away, tucking his face against Brent’s neck, teeth grazing along Brent’s skin. 

Brent jerks against him, feels pre-come spurt out of the head of his cock, nearly sobbing when the fingers tighten along the crown. 

“God, jesus, fuck.” 

“Like that?” the guy says, voice smug as fuck and jesus, Brent normally doesn’t find that hot. Normally finds it annoying as hell. But he’s into this guy’s voice, was into it about 20 minutes ago when they were dancing up against each other and he leaned over in Brent’s ear and said, “You wanna go someplace?” 

Someplace ended up being the bathroom, and now Brent was about to come in this guy’s hand and he’s still barely touched him. 

He gets control of himself, uses the probably 20 pounds he’s got on this dude to spin them around, slam him into the wall near the toilet. He takes in the guy’s wide eyes, kiss-swollen lips, and gorgeous flushed cheeks and nearly groans aloud. 

“Yeah,” Brent says roughly, yanking open the guy’s pants without finesse while burying his face in his neck, kissing salty, cologne-tinged skin. “I fuckin’ like that.” He gets his hand on the guy’s dick, slender and long, and laps at his skin, sucking hard when a hand returns to his own cock. 

Brent kisses up his throat, his jaw, finds his lips again. When they meet this time it’s rough, brutal, fucking each other’s mouths as their hands work frantically in time with each other. 

“Oh, god,” the guy mumbles when they pull back enough to breathe, before slamming his mouth back to Brent’s again. 

“Yeah,” Brent breathes out against his mouth, twisting his wrist, his own toes curling at the way he’s getting worked over right now. “C’mon, baby, lose it for me.” 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” the guy says, way too loud, and his head slams back against the wall as he fucks up into Brent’s fist, coming hard between them. 

It’s the hottest thing Brent’s ever seen, regardless of how long it’s been since he did this. The long line of this guy’s neck, the pinkened skin that goes all the way down to the bare collar bones of his sinfully low shirt that begs to be kissed, the pronounced Adam’s apple that begs to be suckled. 

So Brent does it, letting out a low, frustrated growl and ducking in, closing his lips around his Adam’s apple, drawing out more low, broken’ moans until the guy is trembling against Brent and shifting away from his still moving hand. Brent lets him go, wipes his hand on the wall next to them while kissing down to the dip of his collarbones, dragging his tongue over one before kissing his way to the other, sucking hard. 

“Oh fuck,” the guy repeats, and then starts moving his hand against in earnest. Brent bucks into it, letting the taste of his skin fill his mouth until Brent’s squeezing his eyes shut and coming hard himself. 

His body his shaking, and he’s sweaty and filthy but god, it feels good. It feels _so fucking good_ , this anonymous hook-up in a bar, like he’s in his early 20s again, and not a 30 year-old guy with responsibilities. 

He straightens up, looks down at the guy who is slumped against the wall, looking like Brent just fucked him six ways till Sunday. It’s gratifying as hell, knowing he can undo some hot, young thing like this. 

“Jesus,” the guy repeats, dragging a still unsteady hand over the back of his neck, while wiping his other against the wall, following Brent’s suit. 

Brent pushes his hair back, watches the way the guy’s eyes track the movement, eyes going dark at the sight. 

He swallows as his dick tries to give a valiant twitch of interest, before shaking it off and tucking himself away. The guy does the same, biting his lip as he does so and looking the slightest bit embarrassed. It’s pretty endearing, makes Brent want to kiss him, to draw out those pretty moans again. 

“This was fun,” the guy says when they’re as presentable as they’re going to get. 

“It was,” Brent says, running his hand through his own hair again. 

The guy grins a little, leans in and brushes his fingertip along the inside of Brent’s wrist. Brent shivers. “I’d be down for a round two somewhere more comfortable, man.” 

Brent looks at the guy, his bow lips, nearly perfect save for a scar, his cheekbones, the way his eyes kind of dance and his mouth curves into half a smile. Want pools low in his belly and he -- wants that, too. He really fucking does. Would love to lay this guy out and take him apart with his hands and his mouth, keep him there for hours on end. 

“I can’t. Sorry.” 

The guy’s eyes flash with a mix of suspicion and understanding. “Got someone at home?” he teases. 

“Something like that,” Brent says. 

The guy looks vaguely surprised at Brent’s apparent candor, before nodding. 

Brent should probably correct him, not let him think he just contributed in infidelity, but at the same time it’s not really any of this guy’s business. 

He doesn’t go dropping details about his personal life to strangers, and especially not one time hookups in a gay club. 

He ignores the small part of him that reminds this doesn’t necessarily have to be one time. He can learn this guy’s name, ask to see him again another night. 

“Right,” the guy says, moving out of Brent’s space and opening the door. “See ya around, man,” he calls over his shoulder, and Brent swears he can make out something akin to regret. 

He slumps back against the wall, and lets out a sigh. 

“Yeah, probably not,” he says to himself. 

He heaves himself off the wall a few seconds later and leaves the club, not looking around, ignoring the possible things he could be missing. 

He heads home to the most important thing in his life. 

He promised Carter he’d be there when he woke up tomorrow morning. 

______________________________________

So Brent’s first night out after -- a long fucking time didn’t really go exactly how he planned. The hot sex part did. He’d hoped for that and got it. But he didn’t realize how much he’d keep thinking about it afterward. That gorgeous fucking guy with his dry voice and flat abs and ass that Brent didn’t take full advantage of feeling up. 

Or how much he’d regret not extending their coupling. 

He hasn’t spent a night away from Carter since he was born. He can’t really imagine it, to be honest. Hiring a babysitter just to go out and hookup had been weird enough. 

The next weekend comes and goes, and Brent doesn’t go back out. He does keep jerking off the man whose name he never managed to get, which is a little pathetic, considering he’ll probably never see him again and even if he did, Brent’s doubtful he’d give him the time of day again. 

He went out to get this shit _out_ of his system. 

Yeah. Really didn’t go how he planned, after all. 

_________________________________________

It’s the start of the football season, and Brent’s pretty into the sport. They’re running a contest on the radio station he listens to: premium seats to the Bears game this weekend, as well as field access. Carter would love it, Brent thinks. 

He calls in the next few days before he gets into work, finds himself doing it on his lunch break too, but he’s never caller seven. On Thursday, he is. 

“Your passes will be available for pick-up at the box office, and someone from the PR department will come find you after the second quarter.” 

Brent feels like dad of the year. 

Carter’s excited the entire way to the game, bouncing in his car seat and pulling at his jersey, saying “football! football!” over and over, turning over his mini-football in his hands. 

Brent smiles at him. “Yeah, buddy, football. The real thing.” 

Brent’s wearing his own Bears jersey as well. He picks up his tickets at the box office and is told Jonathan will meet him at his seats before halftime. Carter points to everything, delighted at the sights and sounds. They’ve got two seats but he sits on Brent’s lap the whole time. Their seats are amazing, right on the field basically. He can see all the media people milling about, the photographers, reporters, and a few people with headsets. One of them looks familiar, but Brent can only see his profile. 

Until the second quarter ends and he’s face to face with the person he assumes is Jonathan the PR Guy. 

He just also happens to be Jonathan the Dude Brent Hooked Up With and Never Got His Name. 

Jonathan blinks at him and Brent’s not sure if him recognizing Brent is worse than if he hadn’t. 

“Uh,” Jonathan says, looking down at his clipboard. “Brent Seabrook?” 

“That’d be me,” Brent says, happy his voice is steady. It isn’t until he’s standing that he realizes Carter was still on his lap, because he has to shift him around, settling him over one of Brent’s shoulders. 

Jonathan looks at Carter, eyes wide, and then back at Brent. “Um. So I’m to escort you and your -- son?” He pauses, continuing on when Brent nods in affirmation, “onto the field.” 

“Great,” Brent says, following Jonathan’s lead and willing his heart to stop pounding. 

“Congrats on winning the contest,” Jonathan says belatedly. 

“Thanks,” Brent replies.

When they get onto the field Brent sets Carter down, lets him wander around, making sure to follow close behind. 

Carter throws his mini-football onto the field, spiking it like a touchdown and Brent smiles at him. 

“Be right back,” Jonathan mumbles and Brent forgot for a moment he was there, which is impressive given the awkwardness of this situation. 

Jesus, what are the odds. Jonathan -- looks better than Brent remembered. Dressed in all black, with some badge around his neck. He’s clean shaven, unlike that night in which he boasted the tiniest hint of stubble. He’s wearing a hat, which makes him look even younger, too. Brent realizes he has no idea how old this guy is, or anything about him really. 

When Jonathan returns, he’s holding an actual football, and looking a little sheepish. He shrugs half-heartedly at Brent before crouching down beside Carter. 

“Hey there, buddy. Swiped you this. Don’t tell anyone, okay?” 

Carter’s eyes light up as he takes it, clutching it to his chest. Brent’s own chest feels tight as he watches Jonathan smile warmly at Carter. “Football!” Carter exclaims, looking up at Brent and smiling wide. “Daddy, football!” 

“Yeah, sweetie, football,” Brent says, bending to kiss the top of his head. 

He meets Jonathan’s eyes off to the left, sees him watching Brent with an unreadable expression. His pulse stutters. 

Jonathan stands and Brent lifts Carter into his arms as he squeals in delight. 

“Hey, like this,” Jonathan says, holding the football with Carter, showing him how it’s held for kick. 

Carter smiles and laughs at Jonathan and Brent’s a little mesmerized with the way Jonathan’s nose crinkles when he laughs. 

“Yeah, you got it now, buddy,” Jonathan says, letting go and letting Carter hold the football. 

“How old is he?” Jonathan asks. 

“Just turned two last month.” 

Jonathan nods, and their eyes meet. Brent swallows. 

“So I guess that’s why you had to leave,” Jonathan says lightly. “I mean, I assumed--”

“No, not--” Brent says, cutting him off. “Just. Had this little guy to get back to,” Brent says, kissing Carter’s hair again. 

That expression is back on Jonathan’s face when Brent looks at him again, but he can read it a little better this time, and it makes his mouth go dry. 

“So, uh -- Jonathan--”

“Call me Johnny,” he says, smiling. 

“Johnny,” Brent says. “Uh, how long you been doing this?” he asks, waving his hand in the air. 

“About three years. Was an unpaid internship through college to start, but eventually moved up.” 

“That’s great, man.” 

“And you?” Johnny asks. 

“Work at a bank. Nothing exciting like this.” 

“Hey, don’t knock it, man. People need their money.” 

Brent laughs at how corny that is. 

“So, listen--” Johnny starts and then stops, puts his hand to his headset. “Yeah, okay,” he says to someone in it and then looks at Brent apologetically. “That’s about it, sorry, the 3rd is about to start. But stick around after, you can come out again and we’ll have a gift bag for you.” 

Brent nods. “Okay, uh. Cool.”

Johnny pats Carter’s head. “Hey, buddy -- gotta go now. What’s his name?” Johnny asks Brent.

Brent tells him. 

“Carter,” Johnny repeats, like he’s trying it on for size. “Brent,” he says then, in the same tone, smiling and holding Brent’s gaze. “See you around.” It’s everything and nothing like the last time he said that. 

Brent’s in a bit of a daze as he walks back to the seats.  
________________________________

Later there are a lot more people around, the craziness of the post-game in full swing. Brent and Carter get to meet a few of the players, and they see Johnny briefly to get their swag, but he’s mostly busy ushering people around and talking into his headset. 

Brent would be lying if he didn’t admit it was hot. 

Before they’re about to leave, Johnny stops him. “Hey, uh. Here,” he says, before shoving something in Brent’s hand and turning away just as fast. 

It’s a business card. 

Oh.  
_______________________________

Brent debates when to contact him, or if he even should. In the end, he sends a text two days later. 

_hey, this is Brent. Sorry if that was weird the other day_

Johnny’s response comes right away, which makes Brent feel like an idiot as Johnny clearly doesn’t play games. 

_it wasn’t terrible. had been thinking about you_

Brent gulps, and is really glad he waited until he was home and Carter was in bed to text, as he feels his face go hot, his body remembering the first time they met and how scorching it was. 

_yeah?_ is all he types back in response, because he does know how to do this shit. 

_lol, yeah, asshole. hottest pickup i’d had in a while_

Brent’s dick twitches even as he frowns at his phone. He wonders how often Johnny does that, if it’s all he’s looking for. Brent’s not sure he can do that on the regular anymore. It was fun for a one-time thing but -- he’s got a kid to think about and he thinks he wants to try dating. Maybe have someone new in his life and not just for himself, but for Carter too. 

If Johnny isn’t into that it’d be disappointing, but Brent will just have to get back out there with someone else. 

Still, he can flirt a little, while also being honest. 

_you weren’t too bad yourself_.

The next reply takes a little longer, and Brent pretends to watch T.V. while waiting for it. 

_can i see you again?_ is what he gets back and it makes his throat go tight. 

He’s debates on his response, but there’s no real use playing games. He feels pretty uncomfortable, having to lay everything out like this from the get-go, but he doesn’t want any misunderstands. 

_hookups aren’t my norm at the moment. i’m sorry, man_. He bites his lip as he hits send. 

This reply is, blessedly, faster. _i was actually hoping to take you to dinner one night. on a date, if you need me to specify_. 

They barely know one another, but Brent can practically _hear_ the dryness in Johnny’s voice. 

He thinks about that. He thinks about if he should even _do_ this at all. It would mean making time for someone else besides his son, it would mean allowing himself to not feel guilty if he goes out (when Carter is already asleep to begin with). It would mean not obsessively checking in with the babysitter to make sure he’s still breathing. 

It would mean letting himself have ‘me’ time. 

Johnny knows he has a kid and he isn’t running for the hills. He was great with Carter, actually. Brent thumbs over the words, before typing out a reply. 

_In that case, I’d love to_. 

He hits send and exhales. 

[end]


End file.
